


closer to you (the manic monday remix)

by miso (moonseul)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkward Sexual Situations, M/M, Meet-Cute, Mutual Pining, Trains
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:09:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24736690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonseul/pseuds/miso
Summary: “You’ve been watching me for a while now, haven’t you?” He asks, sounding like he’s catching his breath. His eyes flit down to meet Keith’s. They are gentle, laugh lines creasing at the edges. He teases, “Don’t think I’ve never noticed.”Keith gulps, and along with his spit down goes his bravado. There’s no good excuse, but he doesn’t need any, not when Shiro says, “I’ve been watching you too.”In which Keith fails miserably at the subtle art of people-watching.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 51
Collections: Sheith Remix 2020





	closer to you (the manic monday remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DropsOfAutumn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DropsOfAutumn/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Manic Monday](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18507607) by [DropsOfAutumn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DropsOfAutumn/pseuds/DropsOfAutumn). 



> We are not sitting in the train anymore  
> as passengers with different destinations  
> you pulled me off at your  
> station and I pulled you off at mine  
> here we stand each in the other’s light  
> and are mistakable  
>  _Landscape to the left and to the right_ , Daniela Danz (trans. Monika Cassel)

As much as Keith loves Fridays, weekdays still suck. Especially this one, Keith thinks, weaving between the morning rush hour crowd. They’d just poured out of the 8:18 a.m. train and were ascending the platform steps, leaving Keith approximately ten seconds before the doors would shut close and he would be late to his midterm.

Honestly, he should have mastered the balance of time and speed to his morning routine by now. He’d always toed the line between being late and getting enough sleep, and today would have been a perfect run of the routine, if not for Red, his beloved cat, deciding to puke on the hardwood floor right as he opened the door to leave. 

By the time he makes it to the platform, the crowd has cleared, leaving the final dash to the doors without obstacle. That is, until the doors start to beep close. For a split second, he contemplates against making a run for it. But then his eyes meet those of a familiar stranger, who, in that very second, sticks his limb out to stop the doors from closing. The metal doors make a loud, wheezing sound, as if shaken by a spasm. With all the strength he can muster, Keith pulls the doors off the poor guy’s arm, squeezes into the train car, and into the familiar stranger’s immediate space.

“Hey, sorry about your arm,” Keith apologizes immediately. His face is probably flushed from the adrenaline, and also from the embarrassment of everyone’s eyes on him. “That must’ve hurt…,” he mutters, looking down at the other man’s arm for where creases on his suit might be. 

“I’m all good,” the stranger assures him, catching Keith’s attention with a bashful smile and a knock of his fist on his forearm, “It’s metal, you see.”

  
  
  
  


_Next stop: Addison_

His name is _Shiro_ , he learns before the train arrives at the next stop. This Shiro is balancing a Thinkpad on his lap, one with a sticker of his name plastered on the cover. He’s setting up for a morning call on the commute, juggling a cup of coffee on one hand while fishing out his Airpods from its case with the other. By the looks of it the meeting doesn’t look like it had been planned, and Keith knows a thing or two about such predicaments.

 _You’ll see your bike in three weeks, you brat_ , he recalls Kolivan chiding him over the phone, all bark but no bite. 

Keith does a cursory skim of the train car — there are other students like him, looking like they’d just rolled out of bed. And then there are white-collar office folk like ‘ _oh sorry I was on mute’_ Shiro, who has his eyebrows furrowed as he listens to his call. He’s got a head of silver hair that catches the morning light in a certain way, simmering in the heat of early summer. The train car hurtles through a shroud of trees, and the light subsides a little, folding into itself but never truly leaving.

He snaps out of it when the automated voice comes through overhead, announcing the next stop. Someone pushes past him to stand near the exit. Shiro takes a long sip out of his coffee cup, and Keith tries not to be that much of a creep. The doors _woosh_ open, the train car sucks in a rush of cold air, and everything feels like it changes, then.

  
  
  
  


He’d spent multiple occasions eyeing up Shiro from afar, but standing directly in front of the other’s chest, it seemed like a truth was being told. He has on a nicely fitting navy suit, one that catches his shoulders just right and tapers down to his waist. The buttons on his white dress shirt look like it might just pop, and honestly, if that wouldn’t be a good way for Keith to go…

A flood of people pack on at the next stop, making it even more difficult for Keith to place his attention elsewhere. Shiro occasionally takes a sip from his coffee cup, and Keith doesn’t know if it’s intentional or plain dumb luck, but the other’s sleeves brush against some part of his arm or body every time he raises the cup to his lips, and it drives Keith insane. He catches the bob of Shiro’s Adam's apple and looks away, all of a sudden not knowing what to do with his hands.

He’d spent an hour too many sneaking glances at him, the multiple times he’d caught him in the same train car. Keith hadn’t got to point to purposefully adjust his schedule, just to catch Shiro on the morning rush hour, but there’s no denying the little bit of hope every time he waits at the same door, at the same time, on days he _might_ see him.

Keith almost loses his balance when the train makes a sharp turn on the bend, but before meeting his fate on the floor, a strong arm reaches out to catch him by the waist. He could have imagined this from a tv show somewhere, or in his dreams, but the heat radiating from Shiro’s hand is warm and real.

Keith chokes down a yelp and freezes.

Shiro big, large palm is supporting the small of his back like he weighs nothing. And Keith honestly feels like nothing now — his heart caught in his throat and his thoughts still like a flat line.

  
  
  
  


_Next stop: Merchandise Mart_

It catches him by surprise when he sees Shiro on the return train back to the North side nearing 10 p.m. He’d never been a fan of taking public transport at night, what with the weirdos and all, so having someone else as company was a bonus. And that someone being Shiro was a godsend.

Shiro in the evening wore a lightly dishevelled look, his usually precisely styled hair having come a little loose at the ends after a long day of work. The way the long strands of silver hair manage to defy gravity, rising and blowing over into a smooth wave, has Keith imaging what it’d be like to comb his fingers through it. Keith sandwiches his fingers between his thighs in response.

Shiro has his arms crossed and eyes closed, probably catching some shut eye on the commute home. The gentle rise and fall of the other’s chest is in stark contrast to the sound of the train car, barrelling down the tracks. Beat by beat, Keith almost feels it reverberate up his spine in sync with his heart. 

He feels like he’s being seen, and quickly darts away to look out of the train car and through the windows. The full moon comes and goes, peeking through the gaps between buildings, keeping close as if in a slow chase.

  
  
  
  


After muttering a quick thanks, Keith hurriedly turns to face the other way. He wills his heart out of his throat, feeling giddy and feverish, like a teenager being touched for the first time. It’s ridiculous. He’d built up this fantasy — one too many nights in a row — of an encounter with a familiar stranger. One night it’ll be the two of them in the empty car, where Shiro would crowd him into a corner with a thigh shoved between his willing, parted knees. Another night, innocuously enough, he imagines Shiro falling asleep on his shoulder, his blooming warmth raising goosebumps all across the expanse of his skin. 

The train eases to a stop at the next station, a new set of bodies push in, and Keith focuses on everything, then, feeling like the air itself has changed. Shiro’s hand is still wrapped around his hip — he can feel it through the fabric of his black t-shirt — pressed and burned like a brand.

“Tell me,” a voice comes next to his ear, soft as a whisper. “Tell me, you haven’t been thinking about this either.”

Keith freezes, only briefly, and responds on auto-pilot, pressing back into him. There, he feels Shiro’s question, loud and clear.

Shiro seems to say something, but it’s lost in the heavy heaving of machinery.

Keith makes quick work to claw it back. Strangely brave, he turns back to face Shiro, meeting his lopsided grin. He claws it back with a finger hooked around the lapel of his suit, bringing Shiro’s ear right next to his lips. 

“It’s too noisy here,” he says. “You have to come closer.”

The glint in Shiro’s eyes, the flash of realization, makes it all true. “You…” he begins, but is immediately interrupted by Keith surging forward to latch onto the side of his neck. He presses a soft kiss, tentative, as if testing the waters. He watches the effect of it ripple, pink blush spreading all but imperceptibly to the trained eye of someone who’d been watching him for a while.

The hand, _large_ hand around his hip tightens, almost possessive now.

“You’ve been watching me for a while now, haven’t you?” He asks, sounding like he’s catching his breath. His eyes flit down to meet Keith’s. They are gentle, laugh lines creasing at the edges. He teases, “Don’t think I’ve never noticed.”

Keith gulps, and along with his spit down goes his bravado. There’s no good excuse, but he doesn’t need any, not when Shiro says, “I’ve been watching you too.”

Part of him is waiting for the vibration of the train car to shake him awake, to remind him again that this is just another one of his fantasies. Morning rush hour does wonders to the attention span, Keith thinks as he makes a quick sweep of his periphery. No one seems to notice how close the two of them are standing. No one seems to care that Shiro’s body pressed flush against his, that Shiro’s mouth is dangerously close to the side of his face, teeth gently grazing his earlobe.

It feels obscene, and Keith can’t help but play right into it.

  
  
  
  


_Next stop: Montrose_

Somewhere along the line between Armitage and Diversey, Keith’s eyes begin to lull close. The flickering of fluorescent yellow and blue make haste to multiple visions, flashing past his eyes. It is as quick as a blink. One moment, he dreams of zipping through the traffic on his bike, tilting in an angle that has him balancing on an edge. The next, he’s falling through the sky. 

Someone catches him. He has a reassuring hand on his shoulder, the timbre of his voice soft and soothing, “The next stop is yours.”

  
  
  
  


They move in a slow dance, in quiet anticipation of the other’s next step. It begins to be difficult to set apart fiction from reality.

Shiro’s hand moves lower, fingers pressing into the dimples on his lower spine, and over the gentle slope of his ass to squeeze it roughly. _Your move_.

Keith has never backed down from a challenge, especially not one he’d been thinking about for ages. Had he remotely known of his chances, he’d have had every move plotted. He approaches the same spot on Shiro’s neck again and bites hard, hearing Shiro’s breath freeze, then release a slow exhale as Keith’s tongue laps at the mark apologetically. 

Shiro’s wandering hands find its way to Keith’s waistband, slipping _just_ underneath to touch the soft skin, and staying. It doesn’t edge any deeper. Infuriating. 

Several people start shifting behind him, pushing him so close now that they’re hips are pressed against each other. Shiro’s desire, to him, is clear. 

“You like that?” Is all Keith thinks to say. His face is close now, just hovering close to the seam of Shiro’s lips.

Shiro surges forward to claim his prize. The taste is foreign on his tongue, intoxicating even — the bitter sweetness of a cappuccino, coffee first and milk after. Keith drinks it all in, wrapping his hand around Shiro’s nape to bring him closer. He parts his mouth to the insistent push of Shiro’s tongue.

 _Of course_ he has to be a good kisser.

They part just as the train screeches to a halt, looking at each other breathlessly. A crowd of people push past them, which mildly annoys Keith because it’s ruining the moment, but a quick look to the station sign brings back the long suppressed thought of his fucking midterm, all of things, and he realizes, miserably, that this is his stop.

“Oh shit I’ve gotta go,” Keith blurts, panicked. He’s already pushing past Shiro to follow the rest of the crowd off the train.

“Wait!” Shiro exclaims, hand still around Keith’s wrist. The suave, mysterious front melts into something soft and boyish. 

“Hey,” Keith reassures him. “Same train. Monday. I’ll see you again.”

Shiro’s fingers slip away, and the loss of contact makes itself apparent to Keith.

“Wait, I didn’t get your name!” Shiro responds, looking desperate. He looks like he might jump out of the car to follow him, but the people piling into the train hold him back.

“I’ll tell you on Monday!” Keith shouts, grinning. 

  
  
  
  


Keith gets to class with a minute to spare. The midterm begins with a shaky start, and half the questions go over his head. His heart is still speeding, even after he’s done, and it continues in a state of alert through the rest of the day. It takes the whole evening, and truthfully the rest of the weekend, to fully process what had happened. 

Of course, the only thing he can think about is Shiro — Shiro standing close, Shiro glancing a look down at him, Shiro knowing that he _exists_ … It’s stupid, and Keith knows it, chasing every vision and every memory of him, afraid that it’s going to get away.

He tries to not make a big deal out of it, and he tells himself that while setting multiple alarms on Sunday night, while debating what to wear on Monday morning, and while walking to the train station. The abundance of time he has from leaving his apartment a whole fifteen minutes earlier than usual does nothing to help the nervous anticipation churning in his stomach.

He watches two, three trains come and go. The hands in his pockets fist nervously every so often. Just before worry sets in — all the worst case scenarios and what-ifs coming into the light — someone taps him on the shoulder then.

“Thought you weren’t going to come on board,” a voice chuckles. Keith turns to see Shiro with two cups of coffee in his hands, and a smile too wide for a Monday morning, but Keith will take it readily, his own face already easing into a grin to match his. 

“So,” Shiro smirks, handing over a cup. “Are you going to tell me your name, or are you still going to make me work for it?”

Keith eyes him over, appreciating the grey herringbone suit and the clean lines.

“I think that’s enough work for today,” Keith chuckles, unable to control himself. He grabs him by the lapel, and leans in to close the distance.

**Author's Note:**

> hello DropsOfAutumn! i hope you enjoyed this spin on your story !! stories centered around trains / using trains as a backdrop have always been my favorite -- it's the perfect setting for introspection, long glances out of the window, but also awkward meet-cutes like this one. i decided to change it up by adding some prequel-ish bits. hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
